'If I was going to kill anyone Farcett...It would have been myself !' And with that John Worthington stood up and went back to join his son and brother. The final whistle brought the FA Cup Final to a close and the regulars of The Skaters Run greeted the end of the game with either loud cheers or hisses. Graham Trent was the most vocal, being a native of North London. He shook Johnny Swift's hand and quickly removed the two twenty pound notes and his zippo from the bar. 'Hard luck Geordie' he said. 'Beaten by the better team though, eh !' Johnny Swift narrowed his eyes at Trent and mumbled something about Londoners and began to business of serving the people that that had made an exodus from the front row seats in front of the television to the bar.
As the players either fell to their knees in defeat or leapt about their team mates in joy, the front door of The Skaters Run opened and in strode Clive Lancaster, now fully recovered from his experience of the previous night. He had spent some quality time with his family to try to erase the embarrassing memory of being chased through the street by twenty pigs and pinned down for fifteen minutes by Prescott, John Worthington's award winning Saddleback. After having had their lunch at 'Like Chips In the Night', Clive had written a letter of complaint on his lap top computer while his wife Gail had driven them to Cambridge. They had promised their nine month old, Kieva, an afternoon at the Fitzwilliam Museum and she had greeted the news with a 'HeeeHaaPhhllttt !!' kind of noise. Clive was proud.....'See how she reacts to the promise of a cultural outing'.
Clive crossed the crowded bar. Dressed more casually today, he was wearing jeans with a nice sharp crease and a lemon coloured cotton shirt with epaulettes that he had bought from a discount Golf-Wear Megastore. After getting himself a pint of lager tops, Lancaster gazed around the bar to see who was in. Just the usual gang he thought, hoping that he would be able to find more stimulating conversation than 'Y'arlright then Bomber !' He hated the nickname. After spending ten years in the village and raising his earning level to forty thousand pounds a year, he was still saddled with the puerile nickname that Clunch had attached to him within five minutes of his first visit to the Skaters Run. On that evening in 1988, he had strolled to the pub after a hard day unpacking. He had left his wife Gail to set out the kitchen things. After shaking hands with Clunch and a couple of the other regulars, Clunch had pursed his lips and said, 'Hmm...Lancaster. Fancy a short to go with that Bomber ?' This had been the thing that had infuriated Clive about the area, summed up in one sentence. At the same time generous and welcoming but with a dry sense of sarcasm...just to keep you in your place.
Lancaster then saw the scruffy policeman sitting in the corner. He remembered him staggering about very unprofessionally the night before and then stuffing burgers down his face at the Greasy joint they had had the misfortune to stop at on the way to Cambridge earlier in the day. He had already posted his letter of complaint. As well as the inedible food, with tepid lettuce, he had demanded the immediate sacking of the young girl, Lucille Hall, who had snorted with derision when he had asked for mashed potatoes.
Yaxley noticed Lancaster scanning the room and although not particularly wanting to speak to the man he knew he was involved in some way due to his association with Morgan. Yaxley fixed a smile and beckoned him over. Clive saw the wave and looked around thinking that the scruff must be trying to attract the attention of Fiona or Fred Rickett's. But as they were in deep conversation he realised it must have been him that was being invited over.
The two men sipped their pints after an embarrassing introduction. Yaxley was finding it difficult to hide his instant dislike for the man and Lancaster just couldn't believe that this unkempt, pub frequenting hippie with a broad Yorkshire accent had actually gained the rank of Detective Inspector...albeit in the Drainage Division.
'Can you confirm that Cedric Morgan was with you at on Friday morning ?' asked Yaxley. 'Yes.... I can' replied Lancaster hesitantly. We often meet for a working breakfast. On Friday I picked him up from the station at about nine o'clock. Why do you ask ?' Yaxley shrugged, 'Just being thorough Mr.Lancaster'. He paused and said, 'Is it normal for you to discuss your clients business over breakfast?' Lancaster put down his glass, 'As well as representing Cedric as his accountant, I also work as his constituency agent and help with writing his speeches. That morning we were working on his Hadlode Heights Development Scheme speech he's due to give on Monday to the NFU. I was rather proud of one section...'Our three main priorities are Irrigation, Irrigation, Irrigation !'
